


dream comfort memory to spare

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Makeouts, OTP Feels, Patchwork, Post-Canon, Reunion, poe's needlework habit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: After a reunion dinner, decades after the war, Finn and Poe really get reacquainted.





	dream comfort memory to spare

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt on r/fanfic.
> 
> title from [Helpless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gFCm9TVU9I). thanks as ever to @orchis for audiencing. <3

"There you are."

Finn smiles as he looks up. "I didn't go far." 

Poe's silhouetted above him, a rough dark shape faintly sketched by the light from the greenhouses. In the shadows, he could be the guy from the _Finalizer_ , sweaty and manic, or the man trying hard to keep it together on Crait, expression pinched and voice hoarse. 

Time drops away in the absence of detail. 

"You cold?"

"A little, yeah," Finn replies. He had too much drink with the meal; most of the effects have worn off (his tolerance is much better than it used to be, not that that is necessarily a good thing), but he still feels looser than usual. He's been sitting out here, nursing a bidi of spice, feeling memories and regrets unfold and strengthen before dwindling away. He pinches out the bidi and rubs his arms. "I should head in."

"Don't," Poe says.

"No?" 

"Got just the thing." Poe drops a bundle into Finn's lap, then slowly levers himself down to sit beside him. His false leg juts out as he leans all his weight on his good arm and Finn's shoulder. 

Finn lifts the bundle and opens it. He thought it was a gift of some kind, but it's just a coverlet, heavier than military issue, and very large. 

"Spread out that bad boy, get good and comfy, you'll never shiver again," Poe says, so close that the sound of his voice is also a warmth and a presence on Finn's skin.

"What is this?" Finn unfolds it over his legs.

"Made it myself." 

"You made this."

Poe reaches over to pull some of the quilt across his own lap. "Got a little bit of everyone in it, too."

The surface of the quilt is composed of multiple pieces and scraps of different fabrics. It's hard to make out much detail, but Finn recognizes by touch the rough boiled Bantha-wool of old dress uniforms and the slick synth of flightsuits. Both summon full-on sense memories: close calls and solemn ceremonies and rushed, desperate moments alone in the nearest supply chamber. His fingers find, further, the over-laundered softness of fatigue breeches and jersey singlet, but there are so many other scraps, fuzzy patches and coarser ones, that he has forgotten or never knew in the first place.

How long was Poe keeping these scraps? When did he start collecting them? Finn wants to know, but he's not about to ask, not right now. He remembers, now, the set to Poe's jaw and wrinkle between his eyes as he sewed up blaster tears and darned flak jackets. He always was determined to keep everything going, working, surviving.

"Lots of you in there," Poe says. "Leather, mostly. Some bandages."

 _We're not going to get maudlin,_ Leia used to say. She'd say it, not as an announcement, but a prediction, something to keep them from straying over too far into sorrow. Statura tried to do that tonight but he only got halfway through the statement before Rey's glare and Poe's long, drawn-out fart noise made him stop. They're a tiny crew these days, less like old comrades than unwilling, unwitting lifers. More than ever, survival is a fluke, less than meaningless.

"Finn?"

"I'm maudlin," Finn says now. He feels, rather than sees, Poe nod in response.

"But warm," Poe says after a bit. His head rests on Finn's shoulder. Finn winds his arm through Poe's and draws even closer.

"True." 

Poe's hair stirs under Finn's breath, lifts silver and black to tickle Finn's chin and lips.

"How long did it take you? The quilt."

"It's not done." Poe looks up. The edge of his cheek and riot of his beard catch the light and glow. "Not yet."

It ought to be easy to do what Finn does now—bend a little, twist at the waist, touch the far side of Poe's neck—and it's not _difficult_ , but it's not easy, either. It's the sort of motion that used to come so naturally to him. When they had enough time to move deliberately and gently, that is. He has to think through the movement now, plan when to exhale, when to firm his touch, but then his nose bumps Poe's and their lips brush, and concepts like "ease" and "difficulty" vanish, and sensation zips through his core, and everything settles within him, around them, resolves back down to the heat of Poe's mouth and scratch of his beard and sound of his pleased little murmurs. 

Time absents itself all over again. Although Finn's mind can't help but track all the differences that have accumulated in the intervening decades (silvered hair, chapped lips, creaky necks), those don't seem to matter. His ass is numb from sitting too long; his mouth is yearning for more; his heart is so full.

"You two are beyond predictable," Rey calls from the gravel path as she passes. "Get a room! Dameron's got like a hundred!"

Finn presses his face against Poe's shoulder, embarrassment threading through all the exhilaration.

"We got a quilt!" Poe yells back.

"What more do you need," Finn whispers. 

"Not a damn thing." Poe pulls the quilt up to their necks and, with much maneuvering and grunting, manages to lie down on his back. Finn follows him, tucking the quilt along his far side.

Above them, the sky is enormous, unfamiliar to Finn's untutored eyes. Next to him, however, and pressing down atop him, is what he came here for: warmth, and Poe's hoarse laughter, and intimacy. The kiss resumes and maybe, Finn thinks in his sweet, addled state, it never did stop.

He'll tell Poe that later, and Poe will laugh at him and poke him repeatedly in the chest, say something like, _I'm the idiot around here, what are you doing? Usurping?_ and Finn knows, even now, that the only way to shut him up will be to kiss some more.


End file.
